Only Sometimes
by yuffiehighwind
Summary: Regina and Jefferson have a long history together of fighting for control, especially in the bedroom. Jefferson/Regina, Graham/Regina.
1. Hearts (Jefferson)

_**Story Summary: **Regina and Jefferson have a long history together of fighting for control, especially in the bedroom._

_**Story Notes:** Based on episodes up through S2 Ep 5 "The Doctor." Bounces around in time. Plays fast and loose with canon. Jefferson/Regina, Graham/Regina. Originally posted 11/05/12 on Archive of Our Own. __Sexually Explicit._

**Chapter 1: Hearts (Jefferson)**

Her right hand pressed against your chest - all five, hot fingers - calling up that image...that sound...of countless disembodied hearts thumping in unison.

Anytime Regina placed her hands on you - to push you down into a bed, or up against a wall, or through your shirt from below - any other sensation couldn't make you forget or not notice, even through layers of fabric, what those hands could do to you.

Many times, you could gently nudge her hands away to caress some other body part, and she would comply. When that didn't work, you grabbed her wrists to forcefully move them - anywhere else.

Regina knew. She must have known. She had found all kinds of fresh, new ways to kill, but you still feared her hands the most.

Your fear excited her.

You would let her rest her cheek against you to listen to that rhythmic thumping, but that was it. No hands.

Just to be safe, you'd pin her down while you fucked her, gripping her arms, holding them on either side of her head. She'd squirm as if to escape, but struggling - that was just a game. You were the man with the doors, and this was just one you could open wide. You could feel her pulse all around your cock, and against the tight fingers wound around her wrists.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._


	2. Resistance (Jefferson)

**Chapter 2: Resistance (Jefferson)**

Regina would let out noises you didn't know she could make. She was such a master of self-control, and this was one of the few ways to catch her losing it. Like looking her in the eye as you thrust, daring her to look away first. Regina would shut them, you would shut yours and it took every ounce of willpower not to come.

(She was probably watching you, analyzing every facial twitch, every exhale and grunt.)

You'd let go of her wrists eventually to let her wrap her arms around your neck as you sped up and she clutched at your back, then run her fingers through your hair, sweaty now from exertion. Your bodies pressed close, heart to heart.

You wanted so badly to make her come, but knew you couldn't in this position, so you finally just let yourself go, and hated yourself and hated her and your weakness and her power over you. Hated how she'd say, "Come for me, Jefferson," like it was a royal fucking command, repeating it until you did, or be so cruel, just after, to coo shit like, "Yes, that's good. Good _boy_," like you weren't fucking older than her or were once more powerful or could ever fool her like you once did.

If Regina ever came, she did it herself. Rubbed herself enough to get wet, before, and idly afterwards, squirming in your bed half-satisfied, while you, loathing her, cleaned up.

_She wants it so badly_, you think, _but she can't let me see her really, truly vulnerable._

You've had your fair share of women, and the ones who come are just like you and shut their eyes. But the romantic types leave them open, and you can watch them fall apart, stripped bare.

Regina gets closer and closer, and perhaps one of these days she'll let it happen in front of you.

It was easiest for her to finish in her own bed - you always left as quickly as possible. She probably did it that night before going to sleep, or even right after you slipped out of her room.

Regina was always more frustrated at your house, because you'd climb off of her and it was _her_ turn to rush on clothes. She had so many that if she ever wanted to dress without magic, the process would take quite a while. (Though it didn't take very long to tear them off.)

Regina always had guards just outside the door. Sometimes it bothered you, but only sometimes. Nobody could fuck like the Queen. When she was on top, you were undone. Why even bother pretending she hadn't mastered you long ago?

One day, she would surely drive you mad.


	3. The Hunter

**Chapter 3: The Hunter**

It was the Huntsman who ate her out. Who she'd ride while briskly rubbing herself. Who she'd humiliate for fun.

She kept him in luxury but away from his forest. He had no use for books or any of the court's entertainment. He had no power or authority but to surprise the Queen with all the ways he could pleasure her.

The Huntsman wasn't sure how he knew, but it wasn't too difficult to learn what got her off. How to tire her out so she'd leave him alone.

He could sometimes hear a muffled moan that sounded like a name. He didn't call attention to it, knowing she'd deny it ever slipping out. Perhaps have him beaten. Him. A hunter - free, once - now a bitter slave.

_"Jeff,"_ she might say. _"Daniel," _most of the time.

It was this first name if he was rough, and the second when he was gentle - when she'd let him - when he was making love to her with his mouth.

Repetitions of _Jeff_ could be mistaken for mere exhales, but the longer _Jefferson's_ were as obvious as her _Daniel's _and she looked coldly at him later, if she had said it, but the Huntsman still shot her a challenging look, punishment be damned, and the Queen would briefly look ashamed.


	4. Our Deal (Regina)

**Chapter 4: Our Deal (Regina)**

"Jefferson!" you called. "I require your services."

"And what do I get in return, your Majesty?"

The man lurked in an alley, in that ridiculous top hat and long, dark leather coat. Eye shadow and ringed fingers. Emerging from the shadows, he shot you a smug grin.

"Sometimes you're worse than Rumpel, you pompous fool. Gold, naturally."

"Tell me, first, Regina," he said, "why is a raven like a writing desk?"

The non sequitur didn't surprise you; he often said shit like this.

"Tell me, is that your fee?"

"No, just a riddle. Think about it."

He leaned in close, to whisper in your ear and run a fingertip down your arm.

"Where am I going and is it worth my while?"

"Don't get too familiar, Jefferson," you said, pushing him away.

He'd just smile like a cat, take off his hat and bow, now you held a regal air. Soon you'd have guards following you, but right now you were secretive, especially since a young queen couldn't be seen in a city full of undesirables like this man.

You made a deal. Were always making deals. Except your teacher gave people choices and kept his promises, while you faked and manipulated. Rumpelstiltskin succeeded in turning you dark but he mistakenly turned you a shade darker.

Jefferson's job was to fetch this for that, jumping from world to world to do so. (They were pressed against each other tightly, he told you, separated by thin but impenetrable walls.)

In one of them, this man learned how to disarm you with a smile, without trying.

When he looked scared of you, you knew you were doing something right. When he made _you_ nervous, it caught you off guard. He'd been so many more places in as just as short a life. All you knew was your own kingdom, and while Rumpelstiltskin held the keys to untold power, Jefferson - this unknown, this _nobody,_ turned most-wanted obtainer of valuables throughout the land - had power your teacher couldn't ever master. Where had he gotten it?

That unassuming hat would turn into a purple whirlpool. It was frightening, even to you - that leap of faith. That self-assurance he'd land on solid ground. But in he'd hop, again and again. That took some resolve you could admire.

It's probably why you had sex with him. In a forest, no less. How could one be any more cliché?

Queens didn't do this. Neither did sorceresses, and your mother wouldn't approve. (May she never rest in peace.) It wasn't like the man wasn't swayed by money. Why open your legs when you could just open your purse?

One second you were arguing, and the next, his lips were on yours. A hanging offense. Treason.

What could you do, gazing into such intense, mad eyes, but kiss back?

He spread his coat out on the forest floor and pounded you - your skirt pulled up and petticoats down - into the dirt. You hated him for opening that door up and hid your orgasm. He was probably so astonished he was fucking royalty that he didn't notice how loud your moans were, or that your body was trembling, or that you were barely holding back tears.

It was your first one since Daniel.

It felt so good, being so bad, so you let him gently kiss your lips and neck after, as your pulse slowed. He seemed in quiet awe of you, this first time, so he didn't rush off saying things like, "Thanks, Queenie, it's been fun," or, "We're square, now." That would come later.

"Not bad," you said, smiling.

"Damn good, I'd say."

He gave you one last kiss, then pulled up his pants and stood, suddenly all business.

"Ahem."

You gazed at an upside-down Jefferson, head foggy, your nakedness still exposed. He looked annoyed.

"You're dripping cum on my coat."

_"Excuse _me?!"

"I'm sorry, let me rephrase that. You're dripping cum on my coat, your Majesty."

You flung your skirt down and stood up. Jefferson picked up the coat to inspect it and, brushing leaves off it, deemed it still fit for wear.

"You do _not_ get to talk to me that way, you..."

"I don't want to have a talk, or start a fuss," he interrupted. "It's not a relationship, it's a business transaction, but..."

You slapped him.

"I don't need to fuck some country conman to pay my debts. You owe _me_. I am a _queen_!"

He rubbed his cheek.

"A _married _queen. I tend to get into trouble with married women."

"Yes," you whispered threateningly, "but this time what you've done is punishable by death."

"Then I throw myself at your mercy, your Majesty," he said, with a hint of sarcasm. As a formality. Zero fear. "I was _about_ to say that I would appreciate your _discretion._"

"And I would appreciate yours, _peasant."_

"You sure know how to get a man hot, Regina."

"You sure know how to leave a girl _cold_."

"I beg to differ."

He smirked and ran a fingertip down your arm.

"I felt it, you know. Your body shudder, your muscles contract. Heard you moan."

"Silence."

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

You raised your palm and the man gasped, hands clutching at his throat. You smirked. Let his face start to turn blue before releasing him. He doubled over, coughing.

"You," he wheezed, "wouldn't really kill me, Regina."

"And why is that?"

"You need me."

"I can have any man I want."

"You need the hat."

You hesitated, no retort ready on your tongue. He stood up, keeping his distance from you, and picked it up off the ground.

"And I'm the only man who can make it work."

"You never told me how..."

"Self-preservation, Regina. I wouldn't tell _anybody_."

"Even if I had you tortured? Even if I ripped out your heart?"

You touched his chest and he backed away.

"I'm guessing it wouldn't work anymore. I don't know why. Never did."

You were stuck, but you'd think of a solution. Someday.

"May I go, now?" he asked. "I have an errand to run."

You nodded. You didn't know why, but you nodded.

He flung the hat down and suddenly you could see into its swirling depths. The hole sunk into the ground, grew bigger as it sucked in the surrounding magic. You watched the man casually step into it like it was nothing, like diving into a lake, and vanish.

You felt that sticky wetness between your legs and despised him.


	5. A Pleasure (Regina)

**Chapter 5: A Pleasure (Regina)**

He would procrastinate your failed transactions, stalling for more time. The first time he returned from an errand empty handed, you lost your temper, which you thought Rumpelstiltskin had conditioned right out of you. Queens didn't show their cards and neither did sorceresses, not straightaway. There were many ways to express your anger without raising your voice.

"What do you mean, you don't have it?"

Jefferson tried explaining, foregoing gold and offering anything else for sale, but you would not let him leave you so unsatisfied.

You initiated it, the second time, and he held back, lips clamped shut. Your tongue probed for entry, your fingers in his short, spiky hair, pulling him towards you. He rested his hands on your waist, then opened his own mouth and held you close. Jefferson was - _curse him!_ - swiftly gaining control of the situation, kicking into auto-seduction, masterfully opening you up, door by door. Taking a breath was no escape, because then his teeth grazed your neck. His hands wandered lower, down the back of your dress. Your bodies were pressed together so tight you could feel him growing hard, and there was no denying you were dripping wet and remembering that first time, in the forest, when he split you wide open and you had to try very, very hard not to let him see everything.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. You pushed him away, hands on his chest, his heart. His eyes opened, then widened, just slightly - that stupid eye make-up framing, yes, fear. He looked down - the space opening up between you - at those five, hot fingers. You removed your hand. So. You'd have to file away that scared look for later.

"We can't do this here," you whispered.

He grinned slightly, running his thumb across your wet lips.

"Wasn't my idea, Regina."

He closed his coat and you smoothed out your dress, putting on the face of royalty.

"Ahem."

"Wasn't my idea, your _Majesty_."

Sexual tension hung in the air and after an awkward silence, you snapped, "East Wing Tower. Midnight."

Jefferson's brow furrowed.

"Find it," you ordered. "Be there or I will _make_ you come."

"I'm sure you will."

You turned around and exited, heels clicking on the stone floors.

* * *

He was there, of course, sitting on the edge of the bed like a loyal subject.

"Strip," was the first thing you said to him, after shutting the door, and you watched as the man complied.

"My, my, you're quite bossy tonight," he said, unbuttoning his vest.

"Silence," you commanded, circling him, eyes never leaving his exposed skin, tinted orange in the candlelight. You kicked aside a discarded red scarf with your toe. The man pulled his shirt over his head, then started removing his heavy jeweled rings, placing them in his pants pocket.

His hands went for his belt, next, but you stopped him to do it yourself. Kneeling down in front of him like _you_ were the one there to serve. His eyes widened in surprise when you pulled him out and began to stroke him. You leaned forward to taste him with the tip of your tongue, eliciting a gasp, then took in all of him.

"_Ohh, Regina, _I _knew_ you'd be good with your mouth."

You could sense his hands about to caress your hair, so you stopped to look up and shoot him a stern look. He got the message and shut up, resting his hands obediently at his sides. You sucked his cock for a while, almost losing track of how close you were bringing him.

When you did this for Daniel, or for the King, you didn't tease like this. You wanted Daniel to come because you loved to give him pleasure, and you wanted the King to come so he would leave you alone. Fucking the King had been joyless; doing this a few times was a fairer trade. Enough to keep him happy, no matter how much it disgusted you, but not as intimate as sex. You wouldn't be able to handle that, especially not now. You! A sorceress!

But soon enough, you wouldn't have to do either. He only cared that his daughter had a mother, now, and what political marriage required sex, anyway?

You stopped and stood up. Jefferson watched as you removed a simple dress, no magic required. A pearl one, because you had just come from a royal function and Snow, the little shit, found black _so_ depressing.

Jefferson leered at you, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your body. You pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, rubbing your wet pussy against his cock.

"Oh, Regina..."

"Say it," you whispered in his ear, body flush against his.

His hands caressed your back, lightly squeezed your ass. Legs dangling off the bed, the man's boots and pants still bunched around his ankles. No matter. You'd magic them away if you needed them gone. It was more like the forest, half-dressed.

Your nakedness in this cold castle tower made you shiver, but now, crawling across his body, black hair loose, flawless gold skin, how could anyone deny you were the fairest of them all?

"My _Queen."_

It came out insincere. He never bothered hiding that. You'd always be that naive, young girl who once put her faith in him and that failure of a doctor, wouldn't you?

You eased yourself onto Jefferson's cock. His eyes fluttered shut, but you kept yours open to watch his face contort in pleasure. He gripped your wrists to subtly move your hands away from his heart.

Sitting up, you slowly began to ride him. He opened his eyes and took his turn watching you. Disarmed with pleasure, you couldn't help but gaze back.

But you felt too exposed, too open. You tried a smug look, a regal one, a cold one, but he broke your concentration to pull you down into a passionate kiss and thrust back.

Fighting for control was built into your relationship, now. Would become a game, later on, for years. Right now, this man had the upper hand. You moaned into his mouth. Murmured incoherent nothings into his shoulder. A quick, silent spell and the rest of his clothes were gone. Released, Jefferson flipped you over. New leverage allowed him to fuck you. You took it with your eyes shut tight. He fucked you so hard it hurt. You grunted with the pain, and he subjected you to even more, biting your neck. The sensations drew new noises from your throat - too loud. He pushed himself up on his elbows to scrutinize your face. The truth was bare, wasn't it? How much you loved this.

"It feels so good to fuck you," he said. "To serve you," he quickly added.

Jefferson slowed down to a gentler rhythm and the ache in your pussy abated. You thrust your pelvis to match it, the head of his cock tantalizingly grazing that special spot within you - the one that made you climax so powerfully that day in the forest. You buried your face in his neck, clutching at his back, digging your fingernails into his skin.

"Regina," he whispered, "tell me how to make you come again. You get so tight when you come."

His words snapped you back to reality. You opened your eyes and looked at the ceiling. It was that slick conman Jefferson inside you - not Daniel - stripping away layers of the new, carefully constructed Regina. You had lost control, somehow. You stopped rocking your hips. Bit your lip and said nothing.

"_Please_, Regina, I want to watch you come."

He kissed your face, your neck, and tried to kiss your lips but you turned your head.

He stopped.

"Isn't that why I'm here?" Jefferson asked in his normal tones.

You licked your lips, swallowed - all your usual tells when caught in a lie. Jefferson was good at reading people, at reading you.

"I don't understand," he said, sounding insulted. You let the silence drag a few seconds too long and he pulled out.

"I..." you began. "I'd rather..."

"What?"

"I want to touch myself while you..."

His expression softened and he chuckled.

"Can you...?" you started to ask.

But actually commanding men what to do to you was still strange and new. And having sex with Jefferson didn't feel like a command at all.

Wordlessly, you turned over and got on all fours. This was humiliating. This was wrong.

_"Oh,"_ he said. You could picture him smirking. "You only had to ask."

Jefferson's hands caressed your ass, your thighs. You felt him kneel and position himself behind you. Allowed him to spread your legs slightly, adjust your position.

You had done this before, of course, with Daniel. It was the easiest way to make love in secret locations. You tried to remember how you felt, back then - playfully wicked - but it just wasn't the same. Could never be the same.

The tip of his cock brushed against your pussy. You held your breath, staring at the wall and hoping he'd mistake the hives spreading down your back for arousal and not embarrassment.

He opened you up like one of his portals and resumed thrusting into you, hands gripping your hips. From this angle you could let your face make any expression it wanted, let your moans escape and muffle them with a pillow. He was hitting that _spot_, that spot within you that gave you pleasure so different than just touching your clitoris.

You clumsily reached a hand down to play with it. Noticing your trouble, Jefferson reached around to touch you. His fingers brushed your own, but you slapped them away.

The man's palm returned to your hip and you rubbed your clit vigorously. You were dripping wet, your fingertips slick against the sensitive nub. Then it happened - stars burst behind your eyelids as the waves of your orgasm washed over you. Your face surely exposed those seconds of raw ecstasy, but only the linens witnessed it.

Your body relaxed.

He kept fucking you.

"It's been a pleasure, your Majesty," he said smugly, then shuddered and came inside you.

The two of you remained frozen for a few seconds before he pulled out. You lay belly down on the bed catching your breath. Sensing him getting dressed, you turned over.

"You're dismissed," you said, almost as an afterthought, avoiding his eyes.

He kept glancing at you like he was trying to figure you out, discern what had just happened between you, as if it weren't so fucking obvious.

"Why did...?"

"You're _dismissed_."

"Why won't you let me see?" he asked curiously.

"See what? So I like it from behind. I'm your queen, don't question me."

"Your face, Regina. I'm sure you're quite beautiful when you..."

You sat up and glared at him, dark navy fabric magically weaving its way around your body, neckline all the way up to your chin. His eyes widened, marveling. Then he looked down. He suddenly had his boots and pants on.

"Leave, Jefferson," you said coldly, as he hurried into the rest of his clothes.

He pulled on his coat, smoothed his hair and with a silly flick of the wrist, put on that remarkable, impossible, stupid-looking _hat_. You wanted to look down into it one of these days. Feel the silk at the bottom, examine it, pull it apart to try and discover how this man's powers worked, where they came from. This portal jumper who could open doors and make it look so easy. So attractive.

"'Til next time," he said.

"There won't _be_ a next time, Jefferson."

"Sure there won't."

He could be hanged so many times for so many transgressions, but he was too useful, until you learned his secrets.

The man whistled and exited, quietly shutting the door, but not before doing a playful spin.

That hatter was mad.


	6. The Scar

**Chapter 6: The Scar**

_"Does it hurt?"_

Jefferson sat in Grace's living room on Drury Lane, as if taking his daughter home wasn't his right as a parent. Then again, Grace was also Paige, and this was Paige's family. Besides, it was a friendlier house than his haunting, lonely mansion.

His daughter lightly touched the jagged scar that circled Jefferson's neck. Her concern broke his heart, and the idea of telling her what happened to him broke it further. It was too gruesome to share.

Paige's parents granted the reunited family space, murmuring to each other in the kitchen over coffee, her father's spiked with whiskey, grateful his friend had his child back, heart heavy that his little girl Paige was lost to him.

_We are both_, David had told the town. How can they be both? Grace knew exactly who she really was.

Jefferson didn't want to keep any more secrets, break any more promises. Henry told him to just be open and honest with her. From then on, he would. Her mother would have wanted that. Wanted the lies to stop.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only sometimes," he replied.

"What happened to you?"

"I was hurt. By the Queen."

"Regina?" Paige's mom asked from the doorway, where she had been listening.

"The Queen of Hearts."

The woman shook her head. Jefferson's secret work - long absences, the circumstances of his wife's death - she knew next to nothing about it. They had shared the same forest as a backyard, that was all.

"There's more than one?" Grace asked.

"There were."

That was all he could reveal for now.

"Tell me about school," he said. "About your life here."

Grace was happy to oblige.

* * *

"Does it hurt?" Regina asked, years earlier, lightly touching the jagged scar that circled Jefferson's neck.

"Only sometimes," he replied.

"What happened to you?" she asked, as if she couldn't guess.

"I was decapitated. By the Queen of Hearts."

His lover softly laughed.

"And they stitched you back together again. How marvelous! No one in our world could do that. As we both know, so very well, 'Dead is dead.'"

Regina crawled on top of him. _No escape._ Her black hair fell in his eyes. She straddled his waist, kissed his collarbone. He sighed and caressed her back. He should just flip her over and fuck her again, he thought. Hard, this time. Unforgiving, like Graham didn't, couldn't. Kiss her just to shut her loathsome mouth.

"Did they do it more than once?"

"No."

"Was it quick or slow? Don't answer that. This was an expert slice. Merciful. I'm surprised."

"She didn't do it to torture, she did it to eradicate anybody she didn't like."

"Then why did you come back so damaged?"

Regina rocked her pelvis as they talked. Kissed the scar, flicked her tongue out to lick it, making him hard again. He cursed his body and screamed inside his head for any chance to kill her.

"I couldn't stop making..._hats_."

Regina looked up, smiling slightly.

"Ohhh. Like your old one."

"I made so many I lost count. Couldn't sleep. Only slept if I passed out. Stopped working only to eat and ate barely anything. Lived like that for years."

Regina stopped moving and looked genuinely curious.

"Why are you telling me this?"

In a strangled whisper, he replied, "I don't have anyone else to tell."


	7. Masks

**Chapter 7: Masks**

Regina rested her head on Jefferson's chest like she was his fucking girlfriend, listening to the heart she could no longer tear out, but then again, she never had to. She managed to crush it anyway.

"So Storybrooke didn't bring you any peace?"

He ran his fingers through her tangled black hair.

"I kept making hats. It's a compulsion."

The same one that kept him awake most nights until the sun came up and set again. The sight of his daughter the only thing preventing him from driving those knife-like shears into his wrists.

"For some reason, UPS keeps bringing material here. And that telescope..."

Jefferson gripped Regina's neck, as if about to choke her, but he never could, because she was his only shot at happiness. How fucking ironic!

He'd tried to talk to Grace, but her name was Paige now, and he frightened her. Made her parents nervous. Protective. Like they should be. Like he would've been.

He'd tried to talk to Mr. Gold, but his memory was gone too, or he was just a damn good liar. Rumpelstiltskin always was and so was the Queen. Jefferson spent 15 years alone with his madness, until Regina got drunk one night and showed up at his house.

Regina Mills was from Massachusetts - a lawyer who left her practice for the quiet life, getting her kicks manipulating rural Mainers. Even your typical, oblivious Storybrooke resident could tell her machinations were selfish, in an old timey way. They had a feeling a town was supposed to have selectmen instead, but saw no point in quibbling over semantics. Storybrooke was a large city, though sometimes it felt as small as a village.

It was also far enough removed from other cities for no one to notice that Storybrooke's citizens never aged.

The coal mine had always been condemned. The library had always been closed. Sydney had always been editor of _The Mirror._ Graham had always been Sheriff. Regina had always been Mayor. Ashley had always been pregnant.

David had always been in a coma.

Some things shifted imperceptibly, like knowledge of the outside world. The new President had just been elected - _Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama_. Technology had recently changed - _records, cassettes, CDs, MP3s_.

It was the same year, over and over, except for these little details. A maddening Hell, until 18 years into it, on the cusp of the millennium, a baby was introduced. Regina named him Henry, after her father.

The boy grew older, but no one else did, for 10 years. Time continued to loop, except for Henry. His only clue that something was terribly wrong was that his classmates always stayed back a grade in school, for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. He had to make new friends, and his old ones had to repeat, despite their flawless test scores. He continued this lonely cycle until he found a book explaining everything.

Jefferson didn't know anything about Henry, but he did know this - a telescope appeared, one day, on his doorstep, which he used to watch that girl Paige, his daughter Grace. He'd found this mysterious, wondering if he'd bought it in a catalogue...no, QVC...no, from Amazon...

No matter. It was there, and he only knew who left it because...

...she showed up on his doorstep drunk.

* * *

**March 1998**

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"_Damn_, Jefferson, you've got a nicer place than _mine_."

The Mayor of Storybrooke barreled through the door, her coat dripping melting snow, and old habits died hard, so he let her.

"Could you fix a girl a drink?" she slurred. "It's cold outside and I need some..." She poked his chest and smirked. _"...warming up."_

"You're drunk, Regina, and you're not yourself right now." _Understatement of the century._ "I kindly ask you to _leave_."

"Leave?" she huffed. "I drove here."

She dropped the keys in his hand.

"You wouldn't want me causing any accidents, would you?"

Shutting the door, Jefferson guided the stumbling Mayor into his living room. She plopped down on the couch and took off her coat.

"I'm confused," he said, her sudden presence in his home so unbelievable, and unacceptable, he thought he might be having another nightmare. "Why are you here?"

"I require your services," she said, sounding just like the Queen.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "And what do I get in return, Madame Mayor?"

"Money, naturally. What did you think?"

He let her question hang in the air. Forced a fake, charming smile. She averted her eyes and crossed her legs.

"I need you to retrieve something for me," she said. "An heirloom of mine. I believe Mr. Gold has it."

"Why would that be?"

"I pawned it, long ago. I was new to the city. Young and foolish."

"I'm sure the two of you can work out some kind of deal."

She licked her lips and swallowed. Regina and the Queen were difficult to separate. Her tells were the same, unmistakably. It took giving into Storybrooke's Jefferson not to throttle the woman.

"Mr. Gold wouldn't suspect _you_. He'd laugh in my face if I asked for it back. See through me straightaway."

"That makes no sense. Why would he forget it was yours? What is it, anyway?"

"A mirror."

"What kind of mirror?"

"A hand mirror. It was my family's, and I want it back. Can you do it, or not?"

"I'd do it for free if you hadn't barged into my house, intoxicated, in the middle of the night."

Regina had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

"Why ask _me?_"

"I needed to see you, Jefferson," she said, in a different, slightly desperate tone.

He glanced out the window.

"You _parked_ on my _lawn_."

"I needed to see _somebody_, tonight. _Anybody._"

She sounded pathetic. This wasn't about the mirror. Jefferson tried to look sympathetic, but it was impossible to feel sympathy for Regina.

She took a breath and stood up.

"So where's that drink?"

"I don't drink alcohol," he told her.

She laughed.

"Liar. Everyone knows you're a lonely, bitter drunk lost in his own mind. Won't even take his Thorazine. Thinks we're caught between worlds."

The Queen was back, icier than ever.

"Who told you that?"

"Archie Hopper."

"That's fucking doctor-patient confidentiality!" he growled.

Regina smiled.

"Everyone in this town is in my pocket, Jefferson."

"Except for Mr. Gold."

"_Except_ for Mr. _Gold_."

Jefferson clenched his fists and began to pace.

"Why do you _always_ feel it necessary to _ruin my life?"_

The Mayor looked confused.

"What are you talking about, '_always_?' We've hardly spoken before tonight."

"You trap me in Wonderland. You trap me in Storybrooke. You make me believe I'm crazy..."

Regina stood up, grabbed his arm to cease his manic pacing.

_"Ohh,"_ she said, looking relieved and sickeningly joyful. "You remember," she whispered.

"Oh, yes," he said, bitterly. "I remember _everything_."

The fucking bitch kissed him. He pushed her away.

"Get the fuck away from me, you heartless psycho!"

"I suspected, but now I'm sure."

"What do you mean, 'suspected?' You _did_ this to me."

She shook her head and stepped back. They stared each other down, hate and lust permeating the air between them.

"I'll have that drink, now," she said, quietly.

He'd kill her if he didn't need her - if it didn't mean losing his daughter forever - and she knew it.

Regina wandered over to his liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of vodka. She placed it on the glass coffee table. Then she bent down to get a shaker...glasses...vermouth...

"I know you hate me more than anyone, Jefferson, but please understand."

She unscrewed the cap on the vodka and began to mix a cocktail.

Jefferson paced and tore at his hair, moaning, "This can't be happening."

"My plan backfired," she told him, handing him the drink. He downed it in one gulp. "This '_Groundhog Day'_ nightmare left me lonelier than ever."

Jefferson twirled the glass in his fingers.

"Everyone knows you're fucking the Sheriff," he said.

"It's not the same."

"You mean not the same as torturing someone for fun? Poisoning their soul and damaging their mind?"

"Not the same as having someone to talk to who understands," she said.

He turned on her, snapping, "_Understands? _You know _exactly_ who you are, Regina. You always did. Your life here is a pretense. You never have to doubt it's real. If I went down to your office tomorrow and told you about tonight, you know what you'd say? That I'm making it up. That I forgot to take my meds!"

"I promise I wouldn't bullshit _Storybrooke_ Jefferson by denying I came over drunk, was a bit too forward, and asked for a favor."

"And if I said to you, 'Regina, take us back to the Enchanted Forest and you know _fucking_ well where that is?'"

She grinned, pouring herself a shot of vodka.

"I'd say that you forgot to take your _meds_."

"Give me that," he demanded, grabbing the bottle and taking a long pull.

She took the shot, then asked, "So, Jefferson, you're from New York, right?"

"Please, stop."

"A city boy."

"Stop it."

"Tell me about it," she said nicely, leaning close.

"I was a venture capitalist," he said, through gritted teeth.

She placed her left hand on his chest, over his heart.

"My father worked on Wall Street. He was an investment banker."

He said it like a recitation. Like an affirmation.

Regina put the shot glass down and caressed him, fingering the buttons on his shirt. He felt her kissing his neck, then his mouth. He kept it shut, but she was persistent, her tongue sweeping his lower lip. He gave in. She tasted like a martini.

"You?" he asked, breathlessly, when they parted. Jefferson kissed her cheek, sucked on her earlobe, his old lust rising, as though the intervening years had never happened.

"Grew up in Massachusetts, near Worcester," she said, "hence the lack of an accent."

"Sure," he said, sarcastically.

He tugged her hair roughly, exposing her neck.

"Studied law at UMass Dartmouth," she said, through the moan he elicited biting her.

"No Harvard?"

"No money. Middle class parents. Maybe that's why I turned bad up here. I like the power."

"Then why stop practicing law?" he asked, between kisses.

"I wanted to get away from it all. Do something meaningful."

He stopped.

"Like fuck over other middle class people every day?"

She smirked.

"Something like that."

Jefferson pulled away, picked up the vodka and took another pull.

"I'm not going to fuck you, Regina."

The Queen unbuttoned her blouse.

"Yes, you will."

"I'm not fucking Graham's girlfriend. He has a gun."

The Mayor slipped off her bra.

"I'm gay," he said.

"Then what's this?" she asked, touching his hard-on and starting to rub. "You're pretty enthusiastic for a gay man who won't fuck Graham's girlfriend."

"You're not my _type_."

When she wouldn't relent, he groaned. Was there any point in resisting? It had been so long since he had touched a woman.

"_Fine!_ But I'll need another drink."

Regina stopped stroking him and pulled a nip of peppermint Schnapps she'd been hiding out of her pants pocket. She unscrewed it and took a sip, then kissed him with wet lips.

She tasted like Christmas, which was a fucked up holiday for an Evil Queen to taste like.

Sometimes Storybrooke allowed Maine's natural seasons to invade it. Granny's Diner was covered in red and green lights, lawns had reindeer and Santa's on them, and the convent set up a Nativity scene. Held a Christmas mass. Pagan faiths were the norm back home, so this Jesus guy wasn't alien to Jefferson but he sure was unbelievable. Any benevolent god wouldn't allow shit like Regina Mills to happen to him.

* * *

"I need to see you," Jefferson told his therapist over the phone, and because the city yielded up so few patients, Dr. Archie Hopper complied.

Hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, Jefferson sat down heavily on the sofa. The first words out of his mouth were, "The Mayor came by my house."

Archie nodded, compassionately listening, trying very hard to keep his face blank.

"She seduced me."

His mouth dropped open and let out a soft, "Oh."

Jefferson left out the part about her being the Evil Queen. He wasn't sure anymore, in the daylight, if she was an ex-lawyer or an ex-sorceress.

"I know you know everybody," Jefferson said. "That's the problem with this town, but I don't have anyone else to tell."

"It's a delicate situation," his therapist said, neutrally.

"Did you know she's fucking the Sheriff?"

Archie merely blinked impassively.

"I don't know the man, but it still seems wrong."

"Would you like my advice?"

Jefferson nodded.

"If what you say is true - that Regina is already in a relationship - then you must break it off with her right away."

"The Mayor..."

"Go on."

"I feel like..."

Oh, fuck, he felt himself breaking down, defenses weakened. So few people to talk to, even after so many years. Changeless years.

"I feel like I've known her for years. That she knows me better than anyone else here. Oh, God, it's agonizing..."

"Jefferson, many people feel that way when they become intimate with a person. Whatever you shared with her..."

"It was just a drunk fuck. Just _one_ drunk fuck."

"Whatever you shared," Archie continued, "it's not abnormal to feel..."

Jefferson looked up at him with haunted eyes.

"...infatuation."

Jefferson nodded soberly, and his New York mask thought back on all the infatuated girls whose hearts he'd broken, and reassured himself one so fucked up and beautiful as the Mayor was surely his "type," and it wasn't anything unusual at all, to fall in love at the drop of a...hat. People did that. It happened.

"I don't love her," he said.

Archie nodded.

"I _hate_ her," he growled. "You don't understand. Back in the Enchanted Forest, she was..."

Archie shut his eyes and sighed.

"I don't want to pressure you, Jefferson, but I need to ask, are you taking your medication everyday?"

He shook his head.

"My recommendation is this: take your meds, and if Regina doesn't break it off with Graham, then you _must_ break it off with _her_."

Jefferson ran his fingers through his hair, tapped his feet and rocked back and forth, confused and agitated and loathing her.

"And quite frankly," Archie continued, "in your state, you aren't _ready_ for a relationship."

Jefferson laughed hoarsely.

"Who said anything about a _relationship?_"

"For casual sex, then. We need to get you mentally and emotionally stable. So you can recover."

"You don't understand," Jefferson said, standing up. "I'm never _going to!"_

"It takes time. It takes careful management. Patience."

"Regina has ruined _all_ of our lives already, it's just that none of you can see it."

He stormed out.

* * *

"Hello? Mr. Gold?"

Jefferson put his old airs on best he could with manic depression plus dissociation on top of post-traumatic stress, as all the doctors in Storybrooke put it.

He forced a suave smile when the Scotsman emerged from a back room to shoot him a slight grin.

"The Mad Hatter. What brings you here?"

"Is everybody calling me that, now?" Jefferson asked bitterly, his mask cracking.

"My apologies, Jefferson."

Jefferson took a breath and made a motion with his hand to forget it. He walked around the room, pretending to browse, preparing what to say next.

Mr. Gold asked curiously, casually, "Have you got a last name with that?"

Jefferson smiled, but his eyes didn't. Ignoring the question, he said, "I'm looking for something particular, and I believe you can help me. It's a mirror."

"What kind of mirror?"

"A sterling silver, antique hand mirror. German. Victorian. Sort of Art Nouveau. I saw it online. Not for sale, unfortunately, but I thought I'd seen it somewhere else."

"What makes you think I have it?"

"Call it a hunch," Jefferson replied, plastering on his old smile.

Mr. Gold limped over to a shelf and began searching through items.

"What would you give me in return? Everything has a price."

"Is my money not enough?"

"I like to barter."

"I'm afraid I have no antiques. When I moved up here, I furnished most of my house with Ikea. Sad, isn't it?"

"Your words, not mine," Gold said, still slowly searching. "So, what's a young bachelor like you doing in Storybrooke?"

"Oh, you know, I had to get away from it all."

Mr. Gold stopped searching and shot him a knowing look.

"Don't we all."

Jefferson rolled his eyes, feigning young rich snob in the presence of an old rich snob. Mr. Gold's eyes had wandered to his neck, however.

"That's a very fine cravat," Gold said, apropos of nothing. "I thought men didn't wear those anymore."

Jefferson's fingers brushed the crimson fabric nervously. His own tell. Damn.

Gold had to know. He _had_ to._ Fuck this town,_ Jefferson thought. _Fuck my life._

"May I see it?"

Jefferson leaned forward. Could he ever leave Rumpelstiltskin unsatisfied?

He started to comply, started to take it off. He moved the fabric aside and the jagged scar showed. Mr. Gold looked genuinely sympathetic. They locked eyes.

"That's a nasty scar."

"I sure didn't get it shaving."

"No," Gold said, softly. "I expect not."

Jefferson readjusted the fabric to hide it and gave him a sad smile.

"Tell Ms. Mills that I don't have her mirror," Mr. Gold said.

He froze, then shrugged sheepishly.

"Yeah. I'll do that."

Flipping up his collar, he exited the shop.

* * *

The Queen - Mayor - whatever - had given Jefferson her cell phone number. Thank that Christ fella these things had been invented and he only had to deal with her bullshit over text.

The phone had appeared one day in place of his landline. Apparently Bell was gone, AT&T replaced it, and this device's carrier was called "Sprint."

"Gold has no mirror," he typed, clumsily.

"See me City Hall," was her reply.

_No._

_No, no, no._

He went anyway.

* * *

"Gold knows," he said, entering her chambers. They were decorated in black and white, like chess pieces, which evoked unpleasant memories.

Regina held her breath for a fraction of a second, before turning around and, heels clicking on the tiles, approaching him.

"He knows it's your mirror," Jefferson clarified.

The Mayor exhaled. She shrugged.

"Well. So much for that."

"Why seduce me?" Jefferson asked. "That was hardly necessary."

"Ah, but so much fun."

"_Your_ idea of fun. _My_ idea of a mindfuck."

She pushed past him to open up her drinks cabinet.

"It's not even noon, Regina."

"This is water," she said, holding up an Aquafina bottle. She offered it to him, but he shook his head.

"Okay, say I were just a rich nutcase and you were just the tyrant of a worthless, rural town. You still shouldn't cheat on the Sheriff. He's a good man."

She chuckled.

"You've met what? Twice?"

"Many more times than that," he said, thinking back on their looped "first" meeting, when Graham helped him fix a flat tire. "He's always understanding. Always _kind_."

"What's your point?" she asked, sitting on the edge of her desk - red, wet lips wrapped around the bottleneck as she took a swig.

_Regina, Regina, Regina_...

How he loathed her power over him.

"I don't want you to break his heart."

The Queen laughed.

"It's a little late for that."

* * *

"Oh, fuck..." he breathed, buried in her, in a sickening sea of Regina.

She barely broke a sweat, but those hives gave her away, and her gasping mouth. She didn't have to do anything but take it, her legs dangling off the desk. She didn't even thrust back, like she used to, but her hand wandered down to her clitoris, like any woman's would, her sharp nails digging into his skin, to make herself come, to shudder around his cock as she climaxed, _finally letting him see it. _Years later, when he didn't care and wouldn't want to. He was just a living, breathing fucktoy, now, just like Graham.

Jefferson risked a glance down and caught her looking at him, watched her pleasure wash over her, those eyes and that mouth open wide, that flicker of bare vulnerability.

She turned her head, and with a final moan, shut her eyes and stopped rubbing.


End file.
